


The Family Business

by sassyasscas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, bartender!Dean, destielau - Freeform, human!Cas, human!dean, patron!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 03:57:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2010066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassyasscas/pseuds/sassyasscas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The Family Business" is a destiel AU(Alternate Universe) fanfiction short story set in Castiel Novak's first person POV. This fic will stay a short story for the time being, but if enough feedback is given, a sequel is a possibility. </p><p>Please enjoy, and be sure to comment and give kudos. Note that I am not the best writer out there, but i do love destiel, so I try for my hypothetical fans and my best friend. </p><p>I'd like to thank Molly for the fantastic inspiration and motivation to write, as well as the prompt idea and keeping me sane throughout the writing process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Family Business

The day I met Dean Winchester was a Tuesday, I think. I only try to remember for the sheer fact that I am a little bit sentimental. I was wearing my trench coat, no doubt, with a black t-shirt beneath it, and jeans, probably. Any other time I would have been dressed in a casual suit and tie, but I remember feeling particularly shitty when that day began. And I obviously wasn't prepared to meet anybody that could remotely compare to Dean Winchester. 

~~~~~~~

 

I walked through the parking lot of a divey-looking bar. The gravel crunched beneath a pair of dress shoes, which looked extremely out of place with an old pair of jeans. I glanced up at the rustic looking sign that was perched on the face of the building, reading the name aloud to myself. "The Family Business".

Swinging the door open, I removed my trench coat and hung it over a coat rack, barely touched by the fact that it would smell of cigarettes and beer by the time I left. Even though the place wasn't packed, (aside from the odd biker here and there), it smelled like a thousand dirty bums were puffing smoke into the walls, where it would stick and stay until the day they knocked the building down. Despite the fact that I wanted to vomit, I wasn't feeling up to it at the moment, so I approached the bar. Easing up onto a bar stool, I kicked my foot onto the rest and leaned forwards, resting my forearms lazily on the bar. A tall man swaggered over, and stood before me. A lazy smile played on his lips and I didn't have the energy to smile back, so i raised a couple fingers at him, gesturing "hello". 

"What can I getcha, Angelface?" he spoke, and the name barely translated to my brain, so I chose to ignore it. "Anything. Whatever's cheap, thanks." I replied, slipping a ten dollar bill towards him. He stared down at the bill, then back up at me and I cocked a brow at him. In this moment I decided to really examine him. Take a look at the sharp lines of his jaw, and the sweet colour of his eyes. Green, flecked with gold. He was tall and muscular, one could easily tell, even until the layers he wore. A green military-style jacket, and god knows how many plaid shirts sat stuffed beneath that one, but he was surely something to look at. Swinging the cloth he had in his hand up and over his shoulder, he reached out and slid the bill back towards me. He winked at me, with a strange glow in his eyes. " For you, no charge, sweetheart. It's on me. " 

Running a hand through my hair to smooth it back a little, i glared at the man. Usually I wouldn't have accepted such charity, or in this case, the outcome of flirtatious advances. But I was feeling forgiving that day, so I held back any angry retorts that bubbled in the back of my mind and let the green eyed boy pour me a drink. 

He set it gently on top of a cardboard coaster that sported a beer logo, and pulled up a stool behind the bar, facing me. Pressing two fingers to my forehead, I let out a sigh. Picking up the drink, I downed almost half. A warm sensation spread to my toes and fingers, and I looked up at the boy behind the counter.

"What the hell was that?" I asked, pointing to the glass and picking it up again, with wild intent in my eyes, I'm sure. He smiled, and his green eyes glistened. A voice from the back of the room that smelled strongly of burnt meat and smoke called out suddenly.

"Dean, get your ass back to work, boy! I don't pay you dick around!" He shouted, and from the glimpse I caught of him, he reminded be vaguely of the boy.

"You don't pay me much at all, bitch." he uttered under his breath. But I caught it, and for some reason, the sight of such a handsome face spewing words in such an angry fashion gave me a laugh. And I just about blew my drink all over him. I suppose the term "You're cute when you're furious" would have played nicely for the way I felt. He got a kick out my reaction, of course, and that same devious smile came back into view. "You like that, huh?" He smirked. "Well stick around, there's more where that came from, motherfucker."

I was certain that "motherfucker" was a better nickname than "angelface", so I let that one slide too. 

He hopped off the stool while I sat there, sipping my drink. A few more bar-goers(who looked like regulars to me) trickled in, and the boy kept his green eyes plastered to me the whole time he served them. Eventually I caught his gaze and held it, and he walked back over to where I sat. I laughed. "You are one persistent bastard, I'll give you that." 

His face seemed to change in a few seconds, though. From deviant and flirty to something I had never witnessed in my life. He stared with such a strange look in his eyes that I had to snap to reel him back in. Moments passed, and he brought back that flirty smile, running his tongue along his lower lip. 

"Dean." he said simply, and I didn't have to ask, of course it was his name. And how fitting it was. Dean. I played it over in my mind a thousand times that night.

"Castiel." I replied, mirroring his flirty smile. I felt like shit, but masking it was probably my best bet at the time. 

"Well, Castiel, why don't we get out of here when I finish my shift, ah?" Mischief glimmered in his eyes, and in the tone of his voice. I shot him an angry glance, and he held up his hands.

"Alright, no. But how about you just stick around, then, sweetheart." He purred, and I held up my drink, shooting back a wink at him as I downed the other half of the drink. I slid the empty glass back towards him and he passed back another. This time it was different. It was fiery and sharp, I liked it. Letting the alcohol go to my head, I felt my senses lose touch. I hadn't felt this good in so long. Dean side-stepped over to wipe the counter. He looked so at home with a cloth in his hand and the taps behind him. It suited him, and it pleased me.

"So," I began, blinking slowly. "tell me a bit about the bar, Dean. The Family Business." I said, pointing to the glass up at a neon sign just above the bar. 

"Well, it's not much of a family, and it's not the greatest business." I laughed, for real this time. When I stopped I let out a sigh and rest my head in my hands, just observing the barkeep. He watched me back. It felt like hours that we stared blankly into each others eyes. Which, now that I recall, sounds quite creepy. But it was beautiful. Like him. And I couldn't help it, so i leaned over the counter and grabbed him with both hands by the collar of his shirt and closed the gap between us. 

I could feel his shock radiating through my lips until he realized what exactly was going on. Quickly he eased into it and I softened my grip on his collar. Easing myself up onto the bar, Dean pulled me closer. We paused so I could drop down onto the other side of the bar, and I wrapped my hands around his neck to have him crash his lips back against mine. I wasn't experienced in this field before I met Dean, but he was ever so gentle and kind in his kisses. You would have never guessed by the way he practically undressed you with his eyes from across the bar that he would be such a polite kisser. 

But of course, I had other ideas, my senses drowned in the alcohol I had consumed, and in the kiss. I wasn't hammered, but the kiss had lifted the weight from my shoulders. And it brought me floating to Dean. I wasn't the type to randomly cram my tongue down some random barkeep's throat every night, but Dean made it easy. He was gorgeous, and funny, in a mad kind of way. Where I was decent, but lonely. And frankly, quite sad. But he didn't seem to mind. We hadn't stopped since the moment I clambered over the bar, and I hadn't even noticed the furious looking man standing on the opposite side of the counter. His face nearly turned red when I reluctantly pulled away from the green eyed boy, standing partially behind him. He gripped my arm and I reciprocated, holding him gently by the waist. "Boy, you're just looking for trouble, aren't you?" His voice was gruff, and Dean tensed up. I wasn't sure who this man was, for the longest time. But it clicked in my brain the minute his eyes flashed with anger, they were identical, all but the colour. This man's were brown, with odd flecks and the shade of yellow tinting them slightly. It was his father. And he frightened the both of us, I'm sure. Because in one hand, he held a dirty rag, and in the other, an empty brown beer bottle, smashed at the end. 

"Dammit, I told you not to start this here. When you told me..." He trailed off, and if I wasn't under the influence (in more ways than one) I would have realized that his father was definitely not okay with Dean's expression of his sexuality. 

Dean's grip on my arm never loosened, and I never moved my hand from his hip, but somehow, we both managed to swing over the bar, and head for the door. His dad was older, obviously. But he was certainly sharp on his heels after us. We skidded outside, hearts beating faster than we could count. I had a hold of his hand, and he dragged me behind the bar, where our savior; an old black motorbike sat shining in the moonlight.

I breathed a sigh of relief. Dean fumbled for his keys and started the bike. She purred, and I knew that his father would hear it soon enough, so I swung myself over the back and reached around Dean's waist. Partly for balance, and partly because I loved the way he felt wrapped in my arms. We spend of down the gravel, slipping every which way until the bike found a solid grip on the asphalt of the highway. The bike was loud, but I heard Dean let out that same tortured laugh as he had when he told me about the bar. Something about his brokenness attracted me even more to him, and possibly him to me. It was our sadness that held us together as we sputtered off down the isolated roads. 

 We drove for an hour until Dean pulled to a stop down an old dirt road, and halted the bike before a small beach. The air was cool and the night was thin, we both hopped off the bike, still in shock due to what had happened. Dean's eyes were wide, and I can imagine mine were wider. Taking my hand, he led me down a small hill and we sat in the grass that met neatly with the sand. We gazed at the stars in the water as the tide rolled in, rippling the reflections. I was squished between his thighs, my head in the crook of his neck, and my back to his stomach. His chin rested on my head and occasionally traveled down to press his lips to my neck. I wished dearly that I could pause the world, and stay, forever enclosed in this moment. 

But it began to rain around half an hour in, and we both climbed back onto the bike. Dean drove slowly this time and I nuzzled into his neck, which seemed to please him. It was all surreal.

I don't know if it was love, or booze, or the rain that fell quickly to the earth, catching on our clothes and sticking in our hair that blinded us. But I know that neither of us were aware of the semi truck that came sliding out of a sideroad, directly into the bike.

~~~~

The day I met Dean Winchester, was a Tuesday, I think. Thought I don't quite remember, because that Tuesday was my last.


End file.
